


Flight Cycle 1

by rubygirl29



Series: Flight Cycle [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-28
Updated: 2011-03-28
Packaged: 2017-10-17 08:03:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubygirl29/pseuds/rubygirl29





	Flight Cycle 1

**Flight**

If anybody asked Sheppard why he loved ferris wheels, he'd give the standard guy answer: “Don't know. Let's have another beer.” But this time, it wasn't just anybody asking, it was Ronon. He was studying the small brass model John kept on his nightstand. It looked tiny and fragile in his hands, but he held it gently, turning it back and forth and watching the sunlight play across it.

They were in Sheppard's room sharing a post-bantos match beer. John was holding a ice bag to the bruise on his cheekbone, which for once wasn't from Ronon's stick, but from the floor where he had fallen after making a tricky maneuver to avoid being hit by Ronon's stick. It was annoying, and he had a headache. He squinted up at Ronon from the pillow.

“Why ferris wheels?” Ronon repeated. “I don't get it.”

“Well ... for one, they're fun. A lot of people find it scary, being up so high. Heights never bothered me.”

“Scary.” Ronon looked skeptical.

Sheppard supposed compared to Wraith, ferris wheels were pretty lame in the scary department. “On Earth, we have these places called amusement parks. People go there to have fun, go on the rides, eat junk food --”

“Your planet's weird.” Ronon took a swallow of beer. “You go on these rides to be scared.” He still didn't get it.

Sheppard made a non-committal tilt of his head. “On Sateda, in the cities, didn't you have parks where kids went to ... I don't know – swim, climb rocks, just have fun?”

Ronon looked thoughtful. “I guess. My people lived in the country. I was older when I went to the city. By then I was military. Didn't pay much attention to kids other than trying to keep them alive.”

John thought back to flying choppers in war zones. “Yeah, I know,” he said slowly. “But sometimes even those kids ... There was this boy in country. He had stepped on a landmine and lost a leg, was badly burned. We flew him stateside for treatment. After the hospital discharged him, we took him to Disneyland. This kid had been scared of really big things all his life, but man, I took him on that ferris wheel and he just got this big smile on his face because even though it was a little scary, it was safe. Like when you're little and your dad swings you up over his head – you're a little afraid, but it's your father catching you. So you know it's okay.”

Ronon leaned forward. “Your dad --”

Sheppard shook his head. “My dad thinks scary is the Dow losing 100 points. Don't ask --” he warned Ronon. “It's just money.”

“Okay.” Money bored Ronon. He'd managed without it for so long that he thought it wasn't necessary. It was just a convenience; like a soft mattress.

Sheppard continued, “Once a year, he'd take us to an amusement park for a company picnic. I was four or five, I guess, when I was tall enough to ride on the big ferris wheel. It broke and I was stuck at the top. I loved every second I was up there. I could see for miles. I loved the wind rocking the gondola, the feeling that I was alone and floating. I even liked that crunch in the pit of my stomach when I looked down. If I hadn't been strapped in, I'd probably have tried to stand up and hold out my arms like wings. All the other kids were crying. My dad said I was the one who didn't want to get down.” Sheppard smiled at the memory. “Anyway, my idea of risk is a lot different than his. I think I scare him.” He took a swallow of beer and lay back on the pillow. The headache was finally fading. He closed his eyes, content in the moment.

It was only when the silence seemed longer than usual that he sat up. Ronon was studying him with particular intensity. Those long, tawny eyes were focused on his, and what John saw there made his stomach lurch like it had at the top of that ferris wheel.

He hadn't looked away then, and he didn't look away now. He very deliberately set down his beer and swung his legs around so that he was facing Ronon. He leaned forward, close enough to breathe in the scent of sweat mingled with leather and a faint spicy aroma that was uniquely Ronon.

Ronon set the model back on the bedside table. He knelt, slid his hands over John's thighs, and all the while kept their gazes locked, as if looking for doubt, hesitation, or fear. John didn't falter. He knew what he wanted when he saw it.

He drew a finger down Ronon's cheek, across his lips, tracing a line down his strong throat, lingering briefly on his tattoo. “That must've hurt,” he said.

“Little bit,” Ronon whispered. “It was before I knew what real pain was. Now --”

Sheppard didn't want that memory's shadow in this room, at this time, when his world was about to tilt in unforseen directions. He quickly took the words from Ronon with a hard kiss. Ronon shifted, his body uncoiling in a lithe motion that belied his strength. Sheppard was on his back with Ronon's hands pinioning his shoulders to the mattress. His dreads brushed Sheppard's cheek, the beads and wires bound into them clinking softly against each other. “Are you afraid?” he asked, low and dangerous.

“No.” He wasn't afraid. Maybe he should be, but never having believed in caution, he wanted more than that one kiss.

The light shifted in Ronon's eyes, turning them from green, to gold, to dark honey as his pupils dilated. Sheppard took advantage of that moment of vulnerability. He moved, the weight of his body tilting Ronon to the side, and bringing himself to the top. Ronon's lips twitched and his arms went around John. He braced for another change in position, but instead, was enfolded and held. Ronon's hands moved on his back, cradling his nape. “Still not afraid,” John whispered and bent his head to kiss Ronon. This kiss was soft, deep, wet. Sweet beyond description. Sheppard only broke it because he wanted more skin, more heat, more life.

He slid his hands under Ronon's loose tunic, over firm muscles, the ripple of bone, the light furring of hair on his chest. He traced the raised scar left by a Wraith feeding and hesitated, wondering if Ronon still felt that cold hand burning into his skin.

Ronon's breath drew in harshly. “Don't stop,” he said.

Sheppard rolled a nipple into hardness and felt Ronon shudder as it peaked. A long leg wrapped around his, and Sheppard felt the swell of Ronon's cock pressing into his pelvis. God, he knew what he wanted; he just hadn't known how much he had wanted this.

Anything worth having was worth taking a risk. Sheppard twined his fingers through Ronon's dreads, felt the unfamiliarity of his moustache prickling against his lips. He caught Ronon's lower lip between his teeth, nipped gently and at his gasp of surprise, pulled away to trail kisses across Ronon's salty-tasting skin: his jaw and throat, the dip between his clavicle where the pulse beat and thrummed with life. His hands moved down that long, hard body, and he kissed his way lower, tugged at the drawstring at Ronon's waist, then took the fabric in his hands and pulled the loose pants down. Ronon's groan of pleasure sent John's blood rushing to his cock. He tongued the come welling at the tip of Ronon's penis, tasting the bitter and the sweet in it, and returned to his lips, giving back the taste of his sex in a deep kiss..

Ronon's hands moved to his waist, sliding under the loose waist of his sweatpants and cupping his ass. “Look at me,” he said. “You want this?”

“Fine time to ask.” John would have laughed if Ronon hadn't been so damn serious. 'This' was obviously something important to him, and while John hadn't been thinking too much about what was beyond fucking, now he did. “Yeah. I want this.” His eyes narrowed, zeroing in on Ronon's, and saw something there that made him pause. “Aw, crap. That knock on the head must've scrambled my brains. I – listen, Ronon – I don't always say things right ...” He started to move away, break the skin to skin contact. “If you don't want this, or me ... ” he faded off and realized that Ronon wasn't really releasing his hold, just looking at him with puzzlement. “What?” he asked.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” It was like being on a ferris wheel with the gondola suddenly dropping from the apex and knowing there was nothing above or below but space. You either moved up, or down, but once the ride started, the outcome was inevitable. McKay would have called it momentum and added some sort of insolulable equation ...

“Sheppard?”

“What?” He blinked. “Sorry, buddy. I lost you there for a moment.”

“You didn't lose me, but I thought I lost you.” He sat up and brushed his hand lightly over John's rumpled hair. “You want this. I want this. But right now isn't the time. You should see the docs. Get checked out.” He sat up, got dressed.

“I'm fine.”

“I don't think so.” He leaned in, gently kissed the bruise on John's cheek. “When we do this. It'll be good. I want you to remember it, not lose it 'cause you have a ..a concussion.” He looked absurdly pleased to have remembered the medical term.

John winced. “I've flown choppers through flak and AA fire with a concussion. I think I can do this.”

“This isn't a contest to find out who can fuck the longest and hardest without keeling over.” Ronon managed to sound both patient and frustrated. “This is about you and me being together. It's ... important.” He stood up, held out his hand. “C'mon. Let's get you to sick bay.”

“Can we make it about who can fuck the longest and the hardest without keeling over, sometime?”

“I'll win.” He swooped down and took a quick kiss, just rimming John's lips with his tongue.

John felt a ridiculous grin spreading across his face. He felt woozy. He must have a concussion. “Maybe I'll let you ... once.”

Ronon caught him around the waist, holding him lightly. “Right. Just like you rode that ferris wheel once.”

“That ferris wheel was just the beginning.” He liked the way Ronon's eyes darkened and a flush stained his cheekbones at those words. “Can we go now? My head hurts.”

They made their way down to the infirmary, Ronon's arm draped protectively over John's shoulder; he should have felt tethered, instead he felt poised for flight.

The End


End file.
